Characters beloved creations of Colin Dexter. Based on the characters portrayed by John Thaw and Kevin Whately.
Lyrics (by chapter) - 1. "I'll Stand By You", C.Hinde, B.Steinberg, T.Kelly. 2. "Broken Wings", R.Page, S.George, J.Lang. 3. "You'll Be In My Heart", P.Collins. 4. "Regret", B.Sumner, P.Hook, G.Gilbert, S.Morris, S.Hague.

With thanks to Pfyre for constant help and encouragement and for the final title! to Simon for always being there, and to my Mum, for many a Morse episode watched in total confusion.

"Through The Mists"
By elfin

Prologue

'You're a good man, Lewis. You did the right thing.' Yes, he was sure he'd done the right thing. The tape - evidence that Mrs Falon hadn't been in her London flat, that she in fact was the most likely candidate to have assisted her husband's suicide - was now gone forever. He'd saved Morse yet more hurt and pain. The man didn't deserve to suffer any more than he was doing. Dragging her name through the mud would only make his heartache worse, it wouldn't solve anything.

The question of why he'd gone to such lengths, and for so long, to protect Morse from the obvious truth, still plagued him. He cared for Morse, more than he liked to admit sometimes. The stubborn, arrogant old sod had slowly but surely broken through the invisible defences Lewis had erected so long ago, he'd forgotten were there. Defences so old they had cracked easily under the right, constant pressure. There would be nothing soon, nothing between him and the world that awaited him, the questions that would beg to be answered.

His simple, easy life would soon be out of his reach, and he would be flailing for something - anything - to hold on to. The realization was both frightening and exciting. Fighting it was beyond his capabilities. He wasn't even sure he wanted to any longer.

Soon, there would be nothing left. And it was all down to Morse.

* * * * *

One

"Nothing you confess,
Could make me love you less."

Eleven thirty on a Saturday night. As he opened the front door of his much missed home, Chief Inspector Morse pondered on how normal people spent their Saturday nights. Television, night-clubbing, a pub perhaps. Although the pub did sound like a good idea, he reflected on what kind of a man he was to prefer spending his weekends interviewing the only suspect in a string of murders making up a case that had taken months to crack. His sergeant had finally been placed under cover, against Morse's best judgement, and had spent the past three weeks posing as a shy homosexual desperate enough to join a dating agency.

It could so easily have ended in disaster, but as Lewis' "date" with their main suspect - Seth Greene - had concluded the man had cracked and admitted to the undercover policeman that he had killed four of his past six partners. At Greene's request Lewis had called the police and, even as the distraught suspect was led away, Lewis kept up his cover until it truly was all over and he really could go home.

That had been earlier on. Morse had done the preliminary interview back at the Kidlington station before charging Seth Green and leaving him in the capable hands of his colleagues on the graveyard shift. Now the Chief Inspector was ready for a whiskey and bed.

It was not to be, he assumed, when the doorbell rang just as he had sat down. Sighing, whiskey glass in hand, he rose from the sofa and plodded into the hall, switching on the porch light before opening the door with no little surprise.

"Lewis?"

His sergeant was standing just beyond the porch, hands in pockets, looking at once determined and uncertain. "Sir... I... I'm sorry about the time."
Morse shook his head dismissively, and swung the door open, inviting Lewis in. As his sergeant passed him in the hall, Morse swore he could smell alcohol on his breath. As he closed the door, he checked for Lewis' new deep blue Callibra in the driveway. It was there, slotted in next to his Jaguar. He frowned slightly, suddenly guilty that he might actually be having a bad influence on his subordinate. Sighing, he locked the door and followed Lewis into the lounge.

"Drink?"

Lewis hesitated, then nodded. He accepted the glass with a hand that was slightly trembling. Concerned now, Morse sat himself on the couch directly opposite Lewis in the arm chair. "I thought you'd be at home," he started gently, aware that something here was not right.

"Aye." Lewis took a mouthful of the amber liquid and sat back, relaxing slightly. "I rang Val, told her I was all right. I... I didn't want to go home quite yet. I couldn't." There was something in his voice that was speaking more than the words were saying.

"Is everything all right, Lewis?"

The other nodded, hesitantly. "I.... There's some evidence, Sir, one of tapes from the equipment that was on the phone in the house." Morse nodded. They had set Lewis up in a safe house. One of the back rooms had been fitted with state-of-the-art recording equipment on the telephone line. "A... conversation... Seth... Greene and I... he mentions a party the previous night. We... well, I had to keep up the cover, like, and well... we... we kissed." Morse schooled his expression very carefully. "I just... wanted to tell you. I'm not sure I want it all over the station, Sir. It was part of the cover but...." He looked as miserable as hell when he finished, and Morse leaned forward, smiling softly.

"We've got all the evidence we're going to need. I'll find the tape for you. Don't worry about it." Lewis let out a sigh of absolute relief and seemed to sink back into the arm chair, drowning the remainder of his drink in one swig. "I'm very proud of you, Lewis, you did a very good job. I'll be recommending commendation."

Lewis almost blushed. "Thank you, Sir."

They sat for a while in a companionable silence, Morse finally slipping his shoes off and folding his legs up on to the sofa, leaning into the corner, elbow on the arm of the sofa, chin rested on his hand. He regarded his sergeant with concern. "You should go home," he said finally, quietly, "get some sleep."

But Lewis shook his head. "I'm not going home, I've checked into a hotel just out of town, The Barge I think it's called. I need... some time."

Morse digested this information. "Do you want some leave?"

"No." Too quickly. "No... I need to be working. I just need some normality and some time to clear my head."

"All right." The words were spoken with gentle understanding, and he was rewarded with a grateful smile from his sergeant. Breaking the cord of tension that was lengthening, Lewis looked at, then frowned at the clock on the mantelpiece above the fireplace. "Is that right?"

Morse followed his line of sight and nodded. "Yes."

"Ten past one?" Lewis looked mortified. "Sir! I'm sorry.... I knew it was late but not that.... Had you just got in?"

Again, the older man nodded. "I was interviewing Greene at the station."

Lewis hesitated, and then sat forward. "I'll let you get some sleep, Sir."

Morse regarded his sergeant with puzzled sympathy. Obviously something was going on in that intelligent mind, something to do with the case they had just cracked wide open due to Lewis' astounding compassion for the people he had come into contact with during his undercover work. Others might think that he should be celebrating this night. Morse knew better; knew that so intense a case could prey on the mind long after the perpetrator had been jailed for his actions.

"Look, why don't you stay here tonight. The spare room's got a single bed and its always made up. In the morning you can drive back to the hotel without fear of being over the limit."

Lewis looked as if he were going to decline, but his more usual, sensible nature got the better of him; he couldn't drive. It would be simpler if he stayed. He stood, swaying slightly. "Thanks, Sir. I appreciate it."

Morse nodded, smiling. "The room is the first door... well, you know your way around, you've searched the house before."

Lewis grimly agreed. "Don't remind me. Goodnight, Sir."

"Goodnight, Lewis."

As Morse sat downstairs for a little longer, contemplating the strange conversation they had just had, Lewis threw his jacket across the back of the chair, closing the door of the bedroom. Exhaustion suddenly enveloped him as he stripped down to his boxers and folded himself under the duvet. Pulling it tight around him, he closed his eyes. But he didn't sleep.

Ten minutes later he heard Morse come upstairs, turn out the landing light and close his own bedroom door. The house fell silent. Lewis lay awake, eyes staring into the muted darkness of the small room. His mind was busy with half-thoughts, none of which he could clearly define. Part of him wished he was still in the anonymous hotel room, but he'd been stupid to drive here, it would have been insane to drive back. At least Morse was going to deal with the tape, he knew he could trust his boss with that. That single piece of evidence would never see the inside of a court room. That was a relief amongst the ever-doubling anxieties that plagued him.

After lying there for an hour, and being no closer to sleep, Lewis got up and took the robe from the back of the door. Tying it at the waist, he silently padded downstairs.

Seating himself on the sofa, he leaned across the back and pulled open the curtains enough for him to see the moon high above the Earth. Settling into one corner against the cushions, he rested his head against the high back and stared out through the rough glass. He hadn't been aware of how comfortable he actually felt in Morse's house. Eyeing the various bottles displayed on a low table in the far corner of the room, Lewis got up briefly to pour himself a Scotch. He had never been much of a drinker, and he hoped now that the unfamiliar drug would permeate into his system and knock him off to sleep. It hadn't worked so far, though. His mind seemed far too busy to notice the alcohol in his blood stream.

Relaxing once again he noticed, maybe for the first time, the small number of framed photographs set out on the table at the end of the sofa. Turning and leaning over the arm like a kid, he looked over the intimate collection with interest. He knew hardly anything of his boss' life, he realized. He smiled at the number of different women Morse seemed to have known at one stage or another of his career. They were all quite recent... except one that caught his eye for a singular reason. The person with his arm around Morse in one of the photos at the back, was male. Lewis picked up the frame and sat back, studying it. The backdrop looked to be one of the Oxford Colleges, maybe even Lonsdale - Morse's own college. If that were true, it may well have been taken at his graduation, or perhaps a little later on. Not much, judging by Morse's appearance. Slimmer, happier, with no grey visible in his hair at all. His arm was around the other's waist; he looked contented, joyous even. Lewis felt that he was looking into a happier time, a time that could not have known the hurt that was to come.

"That's Paul."

Lewis looked up at Morse where he stood in the doorway, hesitating before coming closer.

"I'm... I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry."

But Morse waved a dismissive hand at him, and perched on the edge of the armchair where Lewis had been seated earlier. The Detective Sergeant took in Morse's deep blue towelling robe and slippers while the Detective Chief Inspector studied his colleague more intently than he could ever remember doing. In the bright moonlight his face seemed to hold none of its familiar innocent naiveté, his smile no longer that which could fool people into thinking him a little stupid while he saw immediately through them and their lies. He looked older, years older, and wiser. His slightly glazed eyes looked at the photograph he held with almost painful scrutiny, and through that stare Morse could almost feel his own soul being bared.

Only when Lewis turned his gaze on his boss did the intensity fade and the moment was lost to the past. Morse determined that he would never forget it. Something had tilted his world so that for the moment all was different. He would become used to the new angle eventually but it would take time. Sadly - or perhaps not - there was no going back from this moment, only the future was possible now.

"He was... a close friend when I was at college."

It wasn't the words themselves, more the tone. Lewis said nothing, but he couldn't stop his eyebrows rising once. Leaning forward, he replaced the frame.

"What's wrong?" Morse's question was gentle, full of what Lewis interpreted as real concern.

Morse had been against him going undercover from the onset. They weren't trained for assignments like that, he had claimed, it was dangerous. At the time, Lewis hadn't thought of posing as someone else as dangerous as taking on, say, a knife-wielding psychopath threatening a group of influential Oxford University dons. He knew now what the wise man had meant. He wished he'd listened. He could have refused and no one would have thought any less of him for doing so. But he always had to be the one to impress. And he had stepped out of the facade into a life he no longer recognized.

"I'm fine, Sir." They both knew it for the lie it was, but along with the words was the unspoken promise that Lewis would speak to Morse when he could; when he was ready. He lifted the drink and stopped, looking guilty. "Sorry, Sir, I..."

"Please, Lewis, I'm sure I can spare the Scotch. I..." he smiled tentatively. "I'm glad you can feel comfortable here. I've often wondered... well, I don't really have many visitors."

Lewis gave him a cockeyed smile. "Well, you're hardly ever at home, are you Sir?"

The first truly sincere smile - of many to come - lit Morse's usually sullen face. Sometimes Lewis could astound him with his intuition, his sense of someone, his delicate compassion and quiet understanding. "Could I...ask you something?"

"Sure."

"Why are you still a sergeant and *why* do you still trail around after me?"

Lewis smiled knowingly, and sipped the amber nectar in his glass. "That's two questions, Sir." Morse's expression was wonderfully familiar; that odd mix of frustration and affection that it had taken Lewis sometime to discover was only ever bestowed upon him. He took a deep breath. "Well, I guess it's the same answer to both questions, isn't it? Because someone has to take care of you."

Morse chuckled at that. "Lewis! I'm twenty years older than you! I don't need taking care of!"

"Well, maybe not you personally. But your mind needs someone to do the leg work, while it ventures further than any of us could ever hope to go." Lewis was quietly pleased with the look on his boss' face. "Besides," he continued thoughtfully, "I don't think they'd promote me now."

"Why ever not?"

"I don't think Strange could put up with two of us around the station." Another chuckle. Lewis gazed across at Morse. There had always been this... ease between them, even if they'd never noticed nor embraced it.
Morse was shaking his head. "But I... I'm so nasty to you. When was the last time I bought a round? Or let you drink and I drove? Or...thanked you for anything?"

"Earlier this evening. You thanked me for closing this case."

But Morse wasn't going to be so easily deterred. "I'm sorry, Lewis. I'm sorry I treat you like I do. I can't help it... sometimes I think I'm just alienating you to spare myself..." He stopped dead, and almost bashfully looked away.

"What, Sir?" Lewis' voice could have coaxed a confession out of anyone; the harsh Newcastle accent tempered by his own innate gentleness and the alcohol dousing his usual sense.

"Spare myself the hurt, Lewis," the answer was barely audible, yet somehow... Lewis knew what it would be anyway.

"When I leave, you mean. When I finally get promoted."

"As I said, I'm sorry."

Silence. This was why they never really talked. Neither could actually face the truth; that they'd become too used to one another, so close that no one else would ever work with either of them. The expectations they had of one another and fulfilled for one another were known to them and them alone. It was a partnership now. Titles didn't bare much meaning any more. It was a friendship so deep that it had blossomed, developed and survived through bitter arguments and heated debates. They could both pretend, and often did, that it wasn't there, yell and grouse at one another and it still remained, strong and eternally resilient. Nothing could replace that, nor could anything match it.

In a very rare moment of tenderness between them, Lewis leaned across and touched his superior's clasped hands. "I won't leave your side. If that means no promotion until you retire, so be it."

Morse stared down at the pale hand atop his own. "Why, Lewis?"

"Because... in my whole life, no one has ever been closer to me than you. Even my wife doesn't know me as well as you do."

Morse absorbed the frank admission. "Is that why you're here, and not at home?" It was something the older man was still trying to figure out.

Lewis shook his head, but offered no further explanation.

Finally Morse rose. "I'll... leave you to your thoughts."

Lewis just smiled up at him. "Thanks."

Morse stopped just at the door and turned back. "If you do want to talk... about anything...."

Another smile, just as genuine, and a nod. "Thank you, Sir."

"You're always welcome here, Robert."

Lewis gazed at the empty doorway for a long time after Morse had retired once more to bed. Only once, he remembered, had Morse ever called him by his Christian name - a long time ago in a pub somewhere, during a moment of confession rarer than those moments of tenderness. Even then it had been 'Robbie' and not Robert. The latter showed some form of respect, more than he might ever have been shown before. Something was changing between them, literally over night and he was the instigator. He wondered if he should feel happy or sad. A little of both perhaps. Truthfully he was as scared of losing his long-time partner as Morse seemed of losing him. That was why he had turned down offer of promotion time and time again, wasn't it? Hell, that was easier than any other explanation, in the light of recent events.

Sighing to himself, he relaxed back into the comfort of the sofa and closed his eyes. Finally he slept in relative peace.

*

Morse woke after a more restful night than he could remember in a long time. Of course, he hadn't gone to sleep until late, and he had had a busy day. As he opened his eyes and gazed at the alarm clock - just after seven - he knew instinctively that Lewis had already left. Twenty minutes later, showered, shaved and dressed - a glance into the drive as he opened the curtains confirmed it. He was worried about his sergeant, perhaps for the first time ever. Last night - earlier this morning - had been a first for them. Two men who obviously cared deeply for each other, worked closely and well together, who had never before told one another because both had assumed the other had known.

Only when he went downstairs for breakfast did he find Lewis' note on the hall table next to the telephone.

'Gone to shower and shave. See you at HQ before nine. Thanks for being there. R.'

The post arrived an hour later, earlier than usual, when Morse was on his second milky coffee. There was a bill - electricity he guessed - and a letter. Morse recognized the hand writing immediately and smiled, opening the envelope and unfolding the paper within.

'Hello Gorgeous,
It's been too long. I have some time off next week if you're free. Maybe another journey to Bath? I love you, Morse.
Always, Janet
PS Have you spoken to Lewis yet?'

Morse imagined he would be smiling all day. It had taken the better half of his sad life - more like the better three-quarters - but he had finally found someone he loved, who loved him back. Someone with similar ideas when it came to dedication to careers and the balance of personal time. Someone who was good, someone who was separate from the job and the crimes he investigated. Janet was his last chance at happiness, he really believed that. But beyond his own regrets, she was the second best thing ever to happen to him. And she was the one who had finally pointed out the first.

Just before leaving the house, Morse phoned her flat and left a message on the answer machine inviting her out to dinner tonight. There were never any disappointments with Janet, never any rejections without reasons he believed and respected. He felt sure they'd be going out tonight.

*

Lewis was all ready at HQ when Morse arrived. He regarded his sergeant with measured concern until Lewis met his gaze with an almost pleading one of his own. Normality that's what he'd asked for last night. To be allowed to work. So Morse simply smiled when Lewis stood. "Coffee, Sir?"

"Thank you. Lewis."

The evidence pertaining to the recently solved case littered Morse's desk, and remembering his promise to Lewis, he sought out the five tapes that had been recorded on the equipment attached to the telephone in the safe-house that had been Lewis' home for the past three weeks. And now he was living in a hotel. So much could be drawn from that, especially in Morse's mind. But he didn't dwell on it. And there was only one other person he would mention it to.

He took the coffee gratefully from Lewis, and held up the five tapes. "Any idea... when about?"

All the forced cheerfulness that had been adopted for the benefit of those in the canteen left Lewis' face, and miserably he shook his head. In any other circumstances Morse would have scolded him for lack of observation. This time he merely shrugged. "I should listen to them all anyway, I suppose." He headed for the door. "I'll find somewhere quiet."

Lewis looked at him with such bewildering thankfulness that Morse decided to try another tactic. "Er... I'm interviewing Seth Greene again later, I've already had him brought up. I... no one's told him yet that you're a policeman, but he will find out eventually. If you'd rather it came from you.... He's in Interview Room three."

Lewis swallowed. "Thank you." He didn't miss the implication. Interview Rooms one and two had visual surveillance equipment usually switched on whenever a room was occupied. Number three didn't have that, just the usual tape deck, switched off until it was required. Morse had offered him privacy without question. It didn't escape Lewis' thoughts that Morse might have already worked out exactly what had happened. He waited a very long time before going to see the suspect.

Seth Greene was a young beauty. Emerald green eyes, sandy blond hair cut into the base of his neck. A kind, trusting face. The least likely murderer Morse had ever laid eyes on, he had commented on the previous evening. He still wore the same white shirt under a loose blue jersey, with faded blue jeans. He'd at least been allowed cigarettes and a hot coffee.

Those green eyes widened in hurt and despair when Lewis stepped into the room. The look tore into the sergeant like a physical pain. He said nothing, simply closed the door and stood there, white shirt undone at the collar, sleeves turned back. His tie was loosened, his jacket gone. He had to force himself to meet and hold the intense gaze of the other.

"Robbie?" Unshed tears roughened the soft voice. Lewis blinked back his own "What...?"

"I'm sorry, Seth." Finding his own courage, Lewis sat down opposite the suspect.

"Who... who are you?" The question was resigned.

"Detective Sergeant Robert Lewis." Seth's eyes dropped away. "I am sorry."

The other shook his head, tears falling onto the vandalized table top. "Was it all...?"

He leaned forward. "No. I don't want you to think that." Spoken almost desperately.

Seth laughed bitterly. "Not that it matters anymore, does it?" He looked up again. "Please, go away."

Lewis made it back to their office. He closed the door and sat down at his desk. That's when the tears started and wouldn't seem to stop.

*

Morse found the tape almost immediately. The conversation Lewis had been frightened would perhaps taint his reputation around the station could, in Morse's mind, be explained away in terms of necessary undercover work. But he pocketed the tape anyway; it wouldn't be missed - he wasn't above doing this for his friend. He had a suspicion that Lewis had once done the same for him.

Finally, he went straight in to see Seth Greene. The man's eyes were ringed in red, and the moisture was still clearly visible. He guessed Lewis had taken the chance to put in an appearance.

"Are you ready to make a full statement?" Greene only nodded. Morse switched on the double tape deck.

It took an hour. Several times he mentioned 'Robbie', but only regarding the date they'd had the night Seth had been arrested. As to why he'd murdered four other men, he had no answer. He had a temper, he said, and when they didn't want him at the end of the dates he would get annoyed, not because he particularly wanted them, but because he couldn't handle the rejection. He looked so desolate, sitting there chain-smoking. Morse could hardly imagine him hurting anyone.

It was just gone twelve when Morse made his way back to the office he now seemed to share with Lewis. He was almost sure his sergeant had been resourced an office of his own, but he'd never seemed inclined to move himself or his things out. And Morse wasn't about to kick him out - he liked his colleague's company.

He opened the door and stopped dead. His sergeant was sitting at his own desk, staring into nowhere, wiping his eyes periodically. Stepping inside quietly, Morse put his arm around Lewis shoulders and coaxed him to his feet. "Come on, Lewis, let's get you out of here."

*

The small riverside pub was a favourite of Morse's when he needed to be somewhere else - entirely unreachable. It was quiet now, and the long garden down the river was empty. Morse showed Lewis - who had been driven out here in silence - to the table furthest from the pub itself, next to the river. Then he went back inside and ordered two pints and a neat Scotch.

Morse placed the liquor and second pint in front of his sergeant and sat down opposite. His absence had given Lewis time to compose himself - time he had needed. Without a word, he gripped the short glass with a trembling hand and downed the shot in one gulp. His hand was steadier when he replaced the glass, he even managed a smile for his superior.

"I'm sorry, Sir."

"Don't apologize. We did this to you, all of us. If we hadn't have let you go undercover..."

"...then it would have happened at some other time. With someone else." Never had he heard such bleakness in his sergeant's Newcastle burl.

"Do you want to tell me what would have happened?"

Lewis took a deep breath and followed it by a gulp of ale. All around them, the gentle sounds of nature sought to comfort and calm, yet in his head, the nose was almost deafening. His mind was racing.

"You know it won't go further than the two of us."

Lewis nodded quickly. "Aye, I know that. It's just... difficult to put into words."

"Then don't, for now. We can just sit here. I often do."

He was thankful for something else to think about. "You come here alone, like?"

"I go everywhere alone after hours, Lewis." A sparkle came into his eyes when he added, "Usually." Lewis frowned. "Did I tell you about Janet?"

A smile and a nod. "The sister, at the hospital, the one you took to Bath that time?"

"I did tell you. I thought I must have."

"I made you explain the silly grin on your face on the Monday morning. And you sent me that postcard, remember?"

Morse nodded. "Yes. She made me send it. She thought... you deserved to know my name." Morse took a first experimental sip of the ale he'd bought - a new one to the pub. The taste was almost heavenly, and he decided he would spend several nights down here this month. "Janet and I still see each other, on and off. She works more hours than I do - we do - and, I think, there might be a future in it."

Lewis smiled, his eyes twinkling slightly. "That's wonderful, Sir."

"Yes. It won't be marriage or anything, but... I think the world of her, as they say." He looked at his companion almost shyly. Lewis smiled back.

For a while, silence settled over them and they enjoyed the ale as they watched the water passed them by. Finally Lewis put down his empty pint glass. "Did you interview Seth?" Morse nodded. "Did he...mention me?"

Morse met his eyes, that intense cobalt blue gaze that had forced so many criminals to their proverbial knees. It had never failed to move Lewis; Morse often moved him, usually in the most unusual of ways and unexpected of times. "He did. He... just said that he thought you looked kind."

"Was he... going to kill me? Did he think about it?"

"I don't think he thought about any of the killings, they weren't pre-meditated, he just lost his temper."

"You're trying to excuse him, Sir." There was barely disguised anguish in the accusation.

"No, just trying to make some sense of it all."

"There is no sense." Again, that odd bitterness in the voice that had never spoken such pain. It unsettled Morse; Lewis had always been the balanced one, the stable pillar of the working team. He hoped that in their past he had never been the source of such misery. Perhaps this time he was the one to get his sergeant through this. Whatever this was.

"Why don't you take the day off?" He held up his hand to stop Lewis' instant and expected protest. "I know, you want to work. But by tomorrow we'll have charged and moved Seth Greene from the station." Neither tried for why that was important. "It'll make it easier for you." Lewis sighed and nodded. "Why don't you come round this evening? I'll cook something. It'll beat hotel food."

Lewis smiled. "I'm not sure if I'll be great company."

"You're always good company, Lewis." There was absolutely no sarcasm and no joking.

Lewis thought about it. To be truthful, one afternoon was about as much as he'd probably be able to take of his own company right now. And he'd felt so comfortable at Morse's house the previous evening and overnight. He nodded finally.

"I'll bring a bottle."

The worried expression on Morse's face at least presented Lewis with a challenge to take up his afternoon.

Morse sighed. "I should get back before Strange starts tearing the local pubs apart trying to find us." Lewis chuckled - bless him! "Can I drop you somewhere?"

"No. Thanks, but I'll stay for a while. I'll get a taxi back."

"Sure?" A single nod. From both of them.

*

Only when Morse got back to HQ, and found the note on his desk simply reading,

'Janet rang. The answer's yes.'

did he remember his previous invitation. That would teach him not to be so sociable. He reached for the phone, but changed his mind and instead took up his car keys, leaving a simple note on the office door in case Strange did come looking.

'Gone investigating. M & L'

*

Janet McQueen opened the door of her modern, rented Oxford flat and smiled at her erstwhile visitor. "You're earlier than I expected," she commented, inviting Morse in with no hesitation.

"I.. have some bad news... about tonight." Janet closed the door and stood with Morse in the hall. Her expression alone asked him to continue. "I... I've spent this morning with a rather... tearful Sergeant Lewis." He very briefly summed up the last three weeks, putting more time into the happenings of the previous night but still keeping details to himself. His concern obvious, Janet put a quieting hand on his arm.

"I told you, there's only one person I would happily come second to in your affections." Morse nodded, he knew that. "So..." she stepped a little closer, "can you stay for the afternoon?"

*

Strange had almost knocked on the door of the infamous two's office when he saw the note. He wasn't surprised. He'd expected Lewis to request the time off certainly due to him after the last case. And Morse... Morse had been worried sick about his sergeant from the very start. Probably gone to a pub somewhere. He had been about to confirm moving Seth Greene, had come to speak to the two himself because he was feeling almost... paternal toward the odd partnership at the moment. But they'd obviously gone for the day. That - for some reason - was fine with him. He decided to move Greene anyway, to get him out of their hands for a while, until the court case at least.

*

Despite popular rumour, Morse was a fairly decent cook. The Thai chicken and wild rice were cooking nicely when the doorbell rang about seven thirty that evening. Wearing a soft, loose white shirt and dark jeans, Lewis stepped into the hall and presented him with a very expensive, very particular bottle of Rosemount Estate Show Reserve Chardonnay, available, Morse knew, only at the back street wine merchants hidden from the prying eyes of the public. This wasn't the usual stuff sold - although still expensively - at the cheaper high street supermarkets. "I'm impressed."

Lewis smiled expansively. "Good. Took all afternoon to find that place you once took me to, during the DeVries nightmare."

Morse laughed. "You didn't have to."

"I did."

The older man followed the younger into the lounge, after depositing the wine in the kitchen, and watched with a strange, inexplicable joy as Lewis dropped, with welcome familiarity and belonging, into the corner of the sofa.

"Drink?"

"I'd love one." There was an almost imperceptible slur to Lewis' voice that made Morse's eyebrows rise.

"You're picking up my bad habits."

"Pardon?"

"You've been drinking."

Lewis frowned, reddening slightly in guilt. "Only one. How did you know? I ate my way through a whole packet of polo mints on the way here!"

Morse poured a Scotch for Lewis and one for himself. "It's your voice, Lewis... I seem to know it better than I know my own. A neat Scotch will slur anyone's voice, even the most seasoned drinker."

"Maybe I shouldn't talk so much." Lewis took the glass from his boss.

"Nonsense, Lewis. We wouldn't have cracked half the cases we've cracked together if it hadn't been for you talking rubbish at me." His sly grin wiped out any anger before it even took root. It was a long-standing quarrel between them. Lewis always provided the facts, the important scraps of information that fed Morse's over-active imagination and pointed it in the direction of the solution. "I'd better chill the wine." He indicated the stereo. "Put on whatever you want."

A couple of minutes later, the wine cooling in a sink of cold water and ice, the meal almost ready, Morse heard the soft strains of Bach filter in from the lounge. It was nice to have someone around, comfortable in the house, nicer still, somehow, because it was Lewis. Again, Janet's words came back to him, 'Tell him, Morse, please. Because one day it'll be too late and he'll regret it.'

He sighed to himself, and then smiled.

Sorrowful that he couldn't get the wine even cooler, unsure of the last time someone had given him such an expensive present, he took the bottle, two glasses and a cork screw into the lounge and handed them to Lewis. "Could you?"

"Sure."

"You want to eat in the dining room or in here?"

Lewis shrugged. "Wherever."

Morse nodded and returned to the kitchen, reappearing five minutes later with two plates of Thai Chicken with wild rice, and two forks. He handed a plate and fork to Lewis, picking one of the glasses up from the coffee table before making himself comfortable in the armchair.

Lewis smiled, pleasantly surprised. He had been one to presume Morse didn't know the difference between an oven and a microwave. "My turn to be impressed, Sir."

Morse frowned over his plate. "'Sir', Lewis?"

"Would you prefer En...?"

Morse held up his fork in warning. "Why not just 'Morse'?"

Lewis flicked his eyes down, suddenly quiet. He sipped the wine... and congratulated himself on the choice. Morse mirrored him, deciding to the his unanswered question until later. He thought - no, he hoped - that he knew the answer.

Lewis was more than impressed with the food. For a man more used to egg and chips than anything with remotely foreign connections, the Thai spices were music to his pallet. "This is great!" he told the chief enthusiastically.

"Ah, praise indeed." Lewis matched his Chief Inspector's amused chuckle.

With the meal over and the plates disposed of, the wine gone and the Scotch decanter between them, Morse tried again. "Why won't you call me Morse, like everyone else?"

More than a little drunk now, inhibitions down, Lewis folded himself into a corner of the sofa, and moving from his seat Morse made himself comfortable on the other side. "It's.. .." He nibbled his bottom lip for a moment. "When we first started working together, you were so difficult. I convinced myself that you resented me for some reason. So many times I considered requesting a different Chief, even a transfer. But... I knew of your reputation. I wanted to be a good sergeant, good for you. I wanted your experience, to learn from you probably more than anything else. So I did everything I could, and somewhere along the line it became important to me that you appreciated me. I didn't think you did, at first, but after a while I started to realize that the occasional touches, the smiles, the 'thank you's were only ever for me. And I knew that I was lucky, and I loved that. Others, at the station, are jealous of us - of me - because of what we seem to have. Even Chief Inspector Johnson called it a 'symbiotic relationship', in one of his less lucid moments." Morse was surprised by the phrase; both by Lewis' remembering it, and Johnson's initial use of it. "I called you 'Sir' at the start because it's respectful. Now I call you Sir because no one else does."

It wasn't the answer Morse had been expecting; it almost bought tears to his eyes. "I have to tell you, Lewis... if I don't, Janet'll kill me.... When we first met I liked you. I don't... get on well with people in general, but I liked you. I appreciated your honesty, and your integrity. I think now that was deliberately nasty to you, hoping that if I acted that way, maybe you'd leave. But you persisted, and it didn't take long before I was turning around simply knowing you would be there. I know I take you for granted. I wish you wouldn't let me. You've become... very important to me...." He paused, looking down at his hands before glancing back up. "You're the best thing to ever happen to me."

Tears blossomed in Lewis' eyes, and an expression of desolation crossing Morse's face. "I'm sorry, I..."

"No..." Lewis smiled despite his tears. "It feels like I've been waiting my whole life to hear that."

He wiped his eyes and handed his glass to Morse. "Could I?"

"Help yourself. Do you want anything else?" Lewis seemed to consider that. "You have another bottle of wine somewhere?"

"Yes." Morse nodded confidently, slightly surprised by the request, and disappeared into the kitchen and pulled a cheaper, but no less elegant a bottle of white from the fridge, one he'd had chilling for this evening before Lewis had turned up with the Chardonnay.

When he returned to the lounge, Lewis was drying his eyes on his shirt-sleeve, and Morse for once saw the vulnerable, intelligent young man who had slowly worked his way into Morse's life and soul. He poured them both a glass of cool Sauvignon and snuggled into the corner of the sofa. "Why don't you tell me what happened with Seth Greene?" Put as gently as Morse could muster.

The tone touched Lewis as Morse's previous words had done. He looked down into the wine-glass he held in his hands and took a deep breath. "Just...between you and me, like?"

"Of course." He sounded almost hurt.

Lewis nodded. "I know you didn't want me to take the case. I was really scared that if I did take it you'd be... offended. Really offended. But I couldn't work out why you didn't want me to. I don't give a toss what other people think." He mirrored Morse's knowing smile. "I get that from you. But I do care what you think of me, and I didn't want to destroy our working relationship and our friendship over one case. Not when we've worked so damned hard for it in the first place."

Morse chuckled. "So why did you take it?"

"I had to." The answer was quick to come, and the honest truth. "For me. It was a chance to... to find out something about myself, for sure, that I'd wondered about for a very long time." Lewis looked back at his glass, his hands wrapped around it. "I never thought Seth was the killer we were looking for. He was... he knew from the first time we met what I was looking for, what I needed to know. In the three weeks I knew him, all we did was kiss. Once. But... the night he confessed.... I had other ideas for that night. When he told me... about the murders... I wanted to kill him myself. He'd killed four men because they refused to sleep with him, and there was I, a desperate virgin, and all he could do was confess his sins." A bitter laugh made it's way out of Lewis' throat, followed closely by choking sobs.

Tears again started in his eyes, and giving in he dropped his head forward and cried. He couldn't bare to look up, didn't want to see for himself the disgust and horror that had to be written across his superior's face. Career, friendship, everything he held dear had to have gone, but at that moment he cared only about his own frustration.

Morse silently put down his wineglass and shifted into the middle of the sofa. Reaching for Lewis, he wrapped strong arms around his sergeant's shoulders and slowly pulled the trembling body against him. For an age Morse just sat there, murmuring quietly, trying to reassure. After the longest time Lewis pulled back and Morse let him, to a point. He let one hand drop but kept the other rested around his friend's right shoulder. When Lewis tried to move completely away, Morse stopped him, tightening his grip slightly to keep him there.

"Don't." Lewis looked up then, and Morse's regard held only frank concern and more than a hint of sadness. They stared at each other until Lewis had to tear his eyes from the intense cobalt gaze.

"I sound such a bastard... I feel like a shit.... Four men died at his hands and all I can do is feel sorry for myself." He could feel his own self-loathing like a cloak over his reason, but somehow Morse's thumb rubbing against his shoulder was just enough to keep him in this reality. "I just... it's been with me for so long, the wondering, the imagining.... So close...." He sniffed, wiping his sleeve across his lowered face.

Morse slipped his hand up, skimming Lewis' neck and sliding his fingers through the soft, fine dark hair, making Lewis look up before the hand once again came to rest on his shoulder. "Why do you think yourself only good enough for a suspected killer? Why does it have to be pretend?"

More tears filled those soft blue eyes, and Morse's heart threatened to break. "Too many people get hurt otherwise."

"But what about you? You're hurting now."

A tiny part of Lewis' brain was listening in bewilderment to his usually arrogant boss's words of understanding. All he could do was shake his head miserably. "It's only me. At least... the kids... and Val.... I do love them, but I just... I just want to know. I *need* to know."

"Need to know what?" Quiet and gentle.

"What it would have been like if I hadn't got married to keep everybody happy."

"Everyone but yourself, you mean."

Lewis dropped his forehead against Morse's, tears still leaking from his eyes. He nodded once. Morse's hand once again stroked his neck, fingers carding his hair in a silky caress that was having more of an effect on the young sergeant than Morse could possibly have intended it to.

Turning his face, closing his eyes, Lewis surrendered to the soothing, arousing touch, trying to calm his body's reaction even as he leaned into it.

Morse kept up the light stroking, desperately fighting to think straight through the alcoholic fog in his brain. Finally he lowered both hands to Lewis' forearms, gripping him firmly. Unsteadily, Lewis fell sideways against the back of the sofa, eyes searching out Morse's. Blue locked with blue.

"I know... I was wrong, to... plan what I'd planned. It could have messed up an undercover case..."

"... or you could have gotten yourself killed."

Lewis nodded. "If you don't think you can... trust me..."

"Lewis," Morse cut him off gently. "You're the only one I trust, have ever trusted. I'd be a hypocrite if I started to lecture you on non-personal involvement now wouldn't I?" Lewis smiled. "Professionally, don't think another thing about it. Personally... Well, whatever I can do to help."

"Thank you."

Picking up his wineglass from the table, Morse made himself comfortable in the corner of the sofa and reached for Lewis. The other went into the light embrace easily and relaxed his weight against his friend's reassuring form, turning to put his legs up and stretch out. Morse's arm tucked beneath his and around his body, just resting there.

After a short, restive silence, Lewis dropped his head back against Morse's shoulder. "Would you... tell me about Paul?"

The question took Morse by surprise and he had to redirect his thoughts to determine what Lewis was talking about. Then he remembered his sergeant studying the photo last night.

"If you want." Morse didn't have a problem confiding in Lewis, never had, but he was slightly surprised that his sergeant was asking to be bored by Morse's own personal history. "We met just after Susan left me. He was younger, still an undergraduate at Lonsdale. We became friends - close friends. One night, we both got drunk at one of the college banquets and ended up in bed together." The frank admission caught Lewis off-guard and he just managed to swallow his wine instead of spiting it out. Morse sensed rather than felt the movement and chuckled. "You're not the only man to wonder, Lewis. Some of us have experimented, in our younger days, of course."

"What happened?"

"I went into the army and they beat any homosexual longings out of me." He took a long drink from his own glass; the admission had been easier than he'd ever expected it to be. Only Paul had ever known. "So much has changed over the years, yet some things - some people - still manage to remain in the 1950s. I bet in ten years time a sergeant could be caught with his inspector on the Chief Super Intendent's desk and no one will think twice about it."

Lewis laughed at the suggestion, but the image his mind conjured up turned his cheeks red. He was suddenly very aware of the body against which he was rested. He sighed; attempted (successfully) to snatch the bottle from the table without forcing Morse to move his arm and filled his glass. When he offered his boss a refill, Morse shook his head. "I'll let you get drunk this time, Sergeant. Time I took care of you for once."

Very soon, however, Morse was taking the partially full glass from his sleeping sergeant's hand and placing it silently onto the table. Lewis had finally given in to the alcohol and his own soul deep exhaustion. Settling back into the cushions, Morse wrapped his other arm around the man lying against him, and closed his own eyes. Only when he was very sure that Lewis was fast asleep did he lower his head and place a chaste kiss into the soft, ruffled hair that tickled his nose. "I love you, Robert Lewis," he whispered reverently, before letting his own breathing finally even out.

And only when Lewis was even surer that Morse was asleep, did he reply very softly, "Well why don't you do something about it, you daft bugger?"

* * * * *

chapter two

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